


And There You Are

by Perpetual Motion (perpetfic)



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, First Kiss, Get Together, M/M, Mentions of PTSD, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Snuggling, fight me, fixer upper? more like "basic bitches paint shit gray", mild panic attack, strong feelings about the show fixer upper that the author refuses to apologize for, the squad all has small parts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:00:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23335792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/pseuds/Perpetual%20Motion
Summary: Sonny manages to injure himself on the job, and Mike realizes he's feeling things. For Sonny. Who he likes best.
Relationships: Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr./Mike Dodds
Comments: 21
Kudos: 61





	And There You Are

They're on a no-knock warrant, weapons highly probable in the apartment. Mike feels extra-skittish as he runs through the plan with Fin, Rollins, and Carisi. The Lieu had sent him on his own, top man in the field.

"You sure?" Mike had asked when she'd dropped the warrant on his desk and told him he was flying solo.

"You've been gelling well with everyone," the Lieu had replied. "They'll listen to you."

"Okay," Mike had said, tapping his fingers on the warrant. "I'll bring them back in one piece."

Liv had grinned. "See that you do,"

"Okay," Mike says now, as he finishes pointing out entrances and exits on a diagram of the apartment they'd gotten from the super, "any questions?"

"Nope," Fin says, and Rollins and Carisi echo the same. 

"Good. Fin, you and me will go in the front. Rollins, you and Carisi take the back. Hopefully, this guy won't give a lot of fight once he realizes we've got him at both exits."

"Hopefully, he won't shoot his way out," Fin adds in that worn-down, well-knowing tone that Mike's come to appreciate. Fin has a way of making those lines funny, and Mike sees the way it makes Rollins and Carisi relax just a little. "All right," he says, feeling a bit more relaxed himself, "let's go."

They come at the building from the southeast, a blind spot for any of the windows in the perp's apartment. The super is waiting for them at the service door, a key in his hand. He nods grimly when Mike thanks him and then ducks outside, clearly wanting to be as far away from the possible violence as he can get. Mike points, and Rollins and Carisi nod sharply as they peel off, headed towards the back of the building. 

Mike leads the way up the stairs. The building's old, built with the first floor where the basement is in most modern places, so the second floor is only four or five feet off the ground. Their guy's on the second floor, third apartment down. There's music playing behind the door, loud enough Mike knows he won't hear the key in the lock if he's careful. 

He makes a key turning gesture to Fin, and Fin nods, falling back to the side of the door, pointing left as he does so. When Mike throws the door open, Fin will go left, and Mike will go right. 

Mike has a moment of intense fear as he slowly slides the key into the lock and turns it. What if there's a chain that keeps the door from properly bursting open when he kicks? What if their guy got word they're coming, and he's lying in wait? What if the super tipped him off?

He turns the key, then turns the knob. The door unlatches, and Mike pushes it open half an inch, then another. There's no chain, and no sign of their guy. The music hasn't stopped. Mike takes a step back and to the side so he's covered by the door jamb. He spares a quick glance for Fin, who's watching him for the signal to go. 

Mike breathes in deep and steps back in front of the door. He kicks for center mass, and the door goes flying inward. "NYPD. HANDS ON YOUR HEAD. NYPD. ON THE GROUND. HANDS ON YOUR HEAD."

There's a flurry as Mike and Finn enter the living room. Their perp--Gabriel Lanniston--is trying to untangle himself from a young woman who has clearly been sitting on his lap. She has blue-streaked hair and wide, frightened eyes. There are two other girls trying to hide joints and a fourth girl coming out of the kitchen, a sandwich on a plate. 

"ON THE GROUND. HANDS ON YOUR HEAD." Mike repeats as Fin sweeps the rooms behind him. 

The girl with the sandwich drops the plate, then crumples to the floor. The two girls with the joint move more slowly, but they get down and put their hands on their heads. Gabriel Lanniston hasn't moved from his first surprised reaction, and Mike wonders if they're about to have a hostage situation.

"Get up, Bunny," Gabriel says to the woman on his lap. "Do what the officer says."

The girl--Bunny--stumbles as she steps off Gabriel's lap. He uses it to his advantage, shoving Bunny hard against Mike and bolting for an open window behind him. 

"Runner!" Mike shouts into his radio as he helps the girl stand straight. 

"On it!" Carisi replies an instant later. 

"Is anyone else here?" Mike asks Bunny, trying to make his voice soothing but knowing from the way her eyes widen farther that he's barked the question.

"No," she whispers.

"Are there any weapons?"

"Pantry," she says. 

"FIN! PANTRY!" Mike calls out. He looks at the other three girls. The two who'd been smoking the joint look blissed out, and the haze of smoke in the room tells Mike they're likely baked. The girl who'd had the sandwich is still on the floor, hands on her head, and Mike realizes she's crying. 

"We got guns, drugs, and social security cards," Fin says as he walks into the living room. He's got the social security cards in one gloved hand, fanned out so he can read the names. He goes over to the girl on the floor and crouches down. "Hey," he says in a very soft tone, "Sorry we scared you. Real dick move on our part. What's your name?"

The girl looks up, hands still behind her head. She looks at Bunny, then back at Fin. "Bambi," she says. 

"I don't think it is," Fin says quietly. He glances at Bunny. "You got a name?" he asks.

Bunny opens and closes her mouth a few times. She looks behind her at the girls who'd had the joint. Their eyes are closed, and they're both rocking back and forth, but they're noticeably off-beat from the music that's still playing. Mike changes his estimate from "likely baked" to "stoned as hell."

"Gabe--" Bunny starts to say, but Mike's radio cracks on. 

"Sarge, we've got Lanniston in cuffs," Rollins says, "but Carisi hit a patch of ice during the chase and went down hard. We're gonna need a bus. Over."

"How bad is it, Rollins? Over."

"He can't put a lot of weight on his knee, and there was some broken glass under the ice, so he's bleeding. I'm not calling stitches, but I'm not ruling it out. Over."

"Copy that. Call the bus," Mike replies. "Out."

"You got him?" Bunny asks. She looks like she can't believe it's true.

"We do," Mike replies. He watches the uncertainty flash across her face. "If you tell us who you are, will he hurt you?"

Bunny nods. 

"He said if any of us tell, the others have to tell him," Bambi adds. She's sitting up now, hands in her lap. Fin's still next to her. "He'll punish us if he finds out we said anything."

Mike glances at the other two girls. They still seem unaware of where they are. "What about your friends?"

"They did mushrooms before they started smoking," Bunny says. "It's the only way they can have sex with Gabriel. He always wants them for threesomes, and he makes them hurt each other."

Mike thinks for a moment, looking at all of them. "What if we cuff all of you?" he says. He catches Fin's disapproving look but ignores it. "It'll just be for show. We'll lead you all downstairs and into squad cars, and once they've taken Gabriel away, we'll uncuff all of you, and you can all come to the station and tell us who you are, okay?"

"Is he going to stay in jail?" Bunny asks. "He never stays in jail."

"He got a permit for any of those guns?" Fin asks, jerking his thumb towards the pantry. 

"No," Bunny says. 

"Are there other drugs here?" Mike asks. 

"Tons," Bunny says. "He started dealing oxy a couple weeks ago. I think he's got a bunch of pills in his dresser."

"He's got priors," Fin says. "Two for drugs, one for an unregistered weapon. Once we print him and put the guns and drugs into evidence, he's not going anywhere for a while."

"I want to go," Bambi says. She looks surprised she's said it. "I want to go," she repeats more softly. "I don't care if he thinks I told you anything or not."

"He killed Mika," Bunny says to Bambi. "He'll kill you, too."

"Mika?" Mike asks. "Mika Horvat?"

"Yeah," Bunny says. "The last time he was arrested, Mika told the cops everything, but when they couldn't prove anything, he left one night and came back and said he shot her full of drugs and dropped her by a homeless camp. He said the cops would think she was a junky and never look into it because she had track marks from him getting her addicted to meth."

Mike looks at Fin, knowing the question is all over his face. Fin nods, giving Mike the okay to tell Bunny and Bambi what they know. "Mika's not dead," Mike tells Bunny. "Mika's the reason we're here."

"Vice nabbed him last time and took her in with him," Fin adds. "And she did tell them everything, but no one could corroborate, so nothing happened. A guy I know sent the file my way to see if we had anything that'd be useful, and we started talking to Mika. She got us in touch with some other women Gabriel's hurt in the past, and we've built up enough of a case, so we came here to arrest him."

"Really?" Bunny asks. She looks like she's never heard anything more impossible in the world. 

"Really," Mike replies. 

Bunny and Bambi look at each other, then Bunny looks at the other two girls. "They need an ambulance," she says. "They've been threatening to kill themselves for weeks."

"On it," Fin says. He sends the request over the radio. 

"Can you get them moving for us?" Mike asks, pointing to the other two girls.

"Yeah," Bunny replies. "Bambi, get their coats, will you?"

Bambi gets the coats, and she and Bunny bundle the girls up, talking to them quietly. Neither of the girls comes out of their drugged state during the process. When Mike reaches for his cuffs, Bunny shakes her head. 

"No, I want him to see me leaving on my own," she says. 

"Me, too," Bambi adds. 

"Okay," Mike says. "We can do that."

Bambi and Bunny each take control of one of the other girls. Fin leads them down the stairs. Mike stays in the apartment waiting for the uniforms and techs to come in and start the search. He clicks on his radio as the first uniforms cross the threshold. "Rollins. Update on Carisi. Over."

"Bus just pulled in. They're evaluating, but I can tell you his knee's the size of a softball, and one of his cuts is still bleeding. Over."

"How's his mood? Over?"

"It's Carisi," Rollins answers. "He's already telling the medics they're doing a great job. Over."

Mike can't help his grin. Carisi's the most genuinely kind and upbeat person he's ever met. It's not surprising that getting injured isn't going to change his attitude, but it's definitely charming. "All right. You want to ride with him, or do you want to come up and run the scene? Over."

"I'll come up," Rollins answers. "I've had enough of hospitals lately. Over."

"Copy that," Mike replies and cuts his radio. Rollins has only been back on the squad a few weeks. He knows from Carisi's updates that baby Jesse's already had a trip to the ER for a sudden fever. It was nothing out of the ordinary, Carisi had assured everyone the next morning, bleary-eyed from having been up with Rollins all night, just the usual first high fever. But Carisi had also told Mike about Rollins going to the hospital in the very late stages of pregnancy because something felt off and finding out Jesse's heartbeat was dropping. And then Rollins had started to hemorrhage. If Mike can keep her away from a hospital for awhile, he's happy to do it.

"I'm here," Rollins says as she steps into the apartment. "Fin gave me a quick rundown. Guns and drugs in the pantry. He bagged the social security cards for evidence, and I signed as witness. He'll keep 'em to identify the girls you two just got out of here."

"One said there's likely more drugs in the dresser," Mike tells her.

"It's always the dresser," Rollins says, rolling her eyes. "Underwear drawer, probably."

Mike chuckles. "Yeah, probably."

"I'll call you if we run into anything weird," Rollins says. 

"I'm sure you can handle whatever comes up," Mike tells her. He doesn't miss the pleased surprise that goes across her face. Mike will be the first to admit they got off to a rough start, but Rollins has been nothing but professional and hard-working since her maternity leave ended and they really got a chance to work together on a daily basis. He's also picked up snippets of conversations she's had with Carisi and pieced together that she's out of contact with her mother and sister and trying hard not to get pulled back into their emotional manipulation. He hasn't talked to her about it directly--it's not his place--so he tries to shore her up where he can, show her through action that he trusts and respects her. It's been working well so far.

Mike jogs down the stairs and out the door just as the other two buses pull up. Fin's on the stoop with all the girls, and he hollers the medics over. Lanniston's in a squad car, cuffed and angrily smoking a cigarette under the watchful eye of two uniformed officers. Mike can see Carisi laid out on a stretcher in the first ambulance. He's sitting up, his left knee in a brace, and gauze wrapped up and down his leg. 

"Medics say it's not too bad," Fin says when he follows Mike's gaze. "The gauze was just easiest until they can get the wounds real clean at the ER."

"Right," Mike says, breathing out hard as he remembers similar issues in Afghanistan. "Right."

"Tell him it's about time he tripped over those damn legs of his," Fin adds. "Runs like a fucking drunk giraffe."

That startles a laugh out of Mike, and he's certain that was Fin's intent. Fin was an Army Ranger, he remembers. No doubt he recognized the way Mike flashbacked for a moment. "I'll pass it along," he says. He looks at the girls on the stoop. Bunny and Bambi give him tight but genuine smiles. "I've got to go with my detective," he says, pointing towards Carisi, "but Detective Tutuola will stay with you, all right?"

"Okay," Bunny says.

"Sure," Bambi replies. 

"You can tell the unis to go ahead with Lanniston," Mike says to Fin. "You get all the girls looked at. I'm sure the Lieu can start on Lanniston until we get there."

"Sounds good," Fin says.

"I'll call the Lieu from the bus," Mike tells Fin. "Give her all the news at once."

"Keep us updated on Carisi," Fin says, and Mike nods in agreement. 

He walks to the bus and pauses at the open back doors. "How you feeling?" he asks Carisi.

"Knee hurts," Carisi says with a shrug. "But I can't feel much more than that."

"Good." Mike looks around, trying to find the place where Carisi lost his footing. "Where was he?"

"Jumped straight down and headed right," Carisi says, gesturing the movement. "I went after him and grabbed him just before he turned the corner, but then my leg went out from under me, and…" he waves a hand to encompass his leg.

"But you kept hold of our guy," Mike says. "That's impressive."

Carisi grins, looking down bashfully. Mike's noticed him do it before. He'll take compliments, but he always acts like he doesn't deserve them. "Thanks, Sarge. Just doing the job, right?"

Mike gives Carisi's leg a long look. "Right," he says and feels good when Carisi laughs. "I'll be up front," he says.

Mike climbs into the passenger seat of the bus as he dials the Lieu's number. 

"Benson," she answers. 

"We got Lanniston," Mike says. "He tried to run, but Carisi caught him. He injured himself in the process, though, so I'm headed with him to the hospital. Rollins is taking care of the search. Fin's taking care of four girls we found in the apartment. He found social security cards, but they haven't told us their real names yet. Pretty sure they will once they know they're away from Lanniston."

"That all sounds good," the Lieu replies. "Well, not Carisi hurting himself. How bad is it?"

"Not sure yet. Rollins is pretty sure he hurt his knee, and he definitely cut his leg open, but I don't know more than that right now."

"Sounds like it went well," the Lieu says. "Stay with Carisi and keep us updated."

"Will do."

"And, Dodds, don't feel bad that Carisi got injured. Could have happened to anyone."

"Thanks, Lieu," Dodds replies, a tight knot in his chest he hadn't even been aware of loosening at her concern. "I appreciate that."

"Take care," the Lieu says and disconnects.

Mike pockets his phone and buckles his seatbelt as the medic who's driving gets behind the wheel.

The medic doesn't turn on the sirens, and Mike lets himself relax. If the sirens aren't on, Carisi can't be that badly hurt. Mike doesn't try to start a conversation with the driver. The only people in the bus who know how Carisi is doing are the medic in the back and Carisi himself. Ambulances eat noise, Mike knows from experience, so even if he turns to ask how Carisi is, odds are he won't be heard.

When the bus pulls up to the ER, Mike hops down from his seat and follows Carisi's stretcher until a nurse asks him to step aside to a waiting room.

"I'm all right, Sarge!" Carisi hollers, giving him a thumbs up. "Don't worry!"

Mike feels himself smile by accident. It feels wrong. One of his men is hurt. He shouldn't be smiling.

But this isn't Afghanistan. He might have the same title, but he's a Sarge in a very different unit.

Mike goes to the waiting room and sits. He texts the squad what he knows. Carisi's at the ER. The bus didn't use sirens. No one seems overly concerned. Carisi is awake and responsive.

 **Lieutenant Benson:** Did he reassure you?

 **Amanda Rollins:** Oh, come on. The only way he didn't was if he was knocked out.

Mike laughs at their texts, wondering exactly what he's done that he's landed in a squad like this. One that immediately shows support even when they're dealing with a minor injury. One that lovingly jokes about a co-worker's positivity and enthusiasm. 

**Mike Dodds:** Oh, he absolutely did.

The Lieu and Rollins both send back laughing emojis. Fin doesn't respond, but Mike doesn't expect him to. His concentration should be on the girls they found in the apartment. Everything they know about Lanniston says it's likely none of them are more than sixteen. Mike takes a moment to breathe deep and relax his shoulders, silently reminding himself that accepting Gabriel Lanniston exists and hurts underage girls is not a sign he's not doing enough.

His phone buzzes, distracting him, and Mike checks it. 

**Dad:** How'd the no-knock go?

Mike shakes his head at the text. His dad shouldn't be following his daily activities, but he's not surprised he is. He's determined Mike will be Chief one day no matter how many times Mike tries to explain it's not really a goal. The five-year plan will get him to Captain, and he's really not wanting to think farther up the ladder than that.

 **Mike Dodds:** One minor injury due to ice. Everything else went to plan. 

**Dad:** Who got hurt?

 **Mike Dodds:** Carisi. He slipped chasing the suspect, but he got him.

 **Dad:** Good. You earned that.

Mike snorts. He knows his dad means he's earned the arrest, but it reads like he's saying Mike earned Carisi's injury, and even knowing that's not his dad's point, Mike can't help but laugh.

It's an hour before a nurse walks into the waiting room and calls out, "Sergeant Dodds?"

Mike stands up and meets her by the door. "That's me. How's my detective?"

"Doing very well," the nurse says, gesturing for him to follow her. "He's going to need a few stitches, but most of the cuts were superficial. We're waiting for the X-rays to come back, but the doctor is fairly certain he's just twisted his knee and not broken anything."

"Good," Mike says, his worry decreasing at the news. "How's his attitude?"

"Cheerful and polite," the nurse replies as they turn a corner. She pauses outside a curtained area. "Detective Carisi," she calls, "I've got your Sergeant."

"I'm decent," Carisi replies.

The nurse pulls the curtain aside so she and Mike can step into the little cubicle. Carisi's on a gurney, his suit leg open up one side. He isn't wearing the brace anymore, and the gauze has been removed from his cuts. Even from a few feet away, Mike can see that a couple have already scabbed over.

"I'll be back to give you a local and finish cleaning up your cuts," the nurse says to Carisi. Carisi nods.

Mike walks closer to the bed once the nurse leaves. "How you feeling?" he asks.

Carisi shrugs. "They gave me a vicodin for the pain, so I'm all right." He studies Mike's face for a moment. "You okay, Sarge?"

Mike almost says that he's fine. It's what he would have said to his men in Afghanistan. It's what he'd said to his fellow detectives in his previous unit. But this isn't Afghanistan, and this isn't his previous unit. This is an ER with Dominick "Call me Sonny" Carisi, and Mike's phone has a group text that goes from case discussions to photos of kids and back like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"I was worried when Rollins said you fell," Mike says. "I'm glad it isn't more serious. I'd hate to have you on a desk for too long."

"Hey, thanks, Sarge." 

The nurse walks back in before Mike can say anything else. "Gonna give you this shot," she says as she holds up a syringe. "It's just lidocaine to take the edge off before we irrigate your cuts." She injects Carisi at three different spots. He flinches when the needle goes in, and Mike almost offers to hold his hand. 

"Give that five minutes, and I'll be back," the nurse says and exits again.

Carisi takes his phone out and unlocks it, then holds it out to Mike. "Could you snap a photo of this?"

"Your leg?"

"Yeah. I can't really see the whole thing, and I'm trying to get an idea of how bad it is."

Mike takes his phone. He snaps three pictures and hands the phone back. 

Carisi looks at the photos, and Mike watches his eyes widen. "Wow," he says as he starts typing on his phone.

"It looks worse than it is," Mike replies. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he takes it out. 

**Sonny Carisi** : I have been horribly mangled in the line of duty.

Mike laughs. "You sent those to the group chat?"

"Yeah, why not?" Carisi says.

Mike's phone buzzes again. It's the Lieutenant.

 **Lieutenant Benson:** I'm going to be checking with Dodds about what the doctors ACTUALLY say about when you should be back to full duty. Don't try to lie to me.

 **Sonny Carisi:** Don't worry, Lieu. He's next to my bed reading your text.

"Smile!" Carisi says.

Mike looks up from his phone, pulling back in surprise when he realizes Carisi's pointing his phone at him. "What are you--"

"Providing the Lieu with photographic evidence that you're here," Sonny replies like it's obvious.

"You just told her I was here," Mike says, waving his phone at Carisi.

"Yeah, but this will make her laugh." 

Mike sees that Carisi is right. The Lieutenant sends back a laughing emoji. Mike feels himself smile again, and he's typing before he can second guess himself. 

**Mike Dodds:** I can get a sworn affidavit from the doctor if it'll help, Lieutenant. If Carisi tries anything, we'll arrest him.

"Hey!" Carisi yelps a moment later, clearly having seen Mike's response.

"Just trying to make sure you take care of yourself," Mike says. He feels proud when Carisi chuckles.

The nurse pokes her head around the curtain. "Detective, Carisi, how's your leg feel?"

"Numb," Carisi says.

"Good." The nurse walks over with a kidney-shaped bowl and a bottle of clear liquid with a pointed tip. "You might still feel some stinging while I'm working. Just tell me if it's too much, and we can get you some more lidocaine."

"I will," Carisi says.

Mike stays quiet, watching the nurse work on Carisi's leg. She's efficient but thorough. Mike catches Carisi flinching a couple of times but doesn't ask if he's okay. He thinks about the last time he saw something like this. He'd helped the medic soak thick pads of gauze with disinfecting liquid and press them fast and hard to his gunner's arm. He'd taken shrapnel from an IED. The doctors had saved his arm, but he'd lost a chunk of muscle. Mike emails with him sometimes. He says he's happy being out, but he looks tired in his photos.

"Hey, Sarge," Carisi says quietly, pulling Mike from his thoughts. "You okay? You look worried."

Mike blinks a few times. "Fine," he says. "Just thinking. Don't worry about me. You're the one who's about to get stitches."

"Not like it's the first time," Carisi says. "Gina pushed me off a swing when I was three, and I had to get five in the back of my head. I got ten in my back when Bella tackled me off the front porch when I was seven after I took the last purple popsicle. Managed to land on a rock."

"Bella's your younger sister, right?"

"Yeah. She was four. Kicked my ass." Carisi glances at the nurse. "You've probably seen some sibling-related stitches, right?"

"Almost weekly," the nurse replies without stopping her work. "The only thing more dangerous to a child than a sibling in a bad mood is anything small enough to jam up their nose."

Carisi chuckles and settles back against his pillow. Mike checks his phone to give himself something to do. No new texts. No calls. He wonders if Rollins would take offense if he called in to check on the scene. He doesn't want her to think he's doubting her abilities, but he feels like he should be doing something useful.

You should only sit still in church or in school, his dad has always said. Otherwise, you should be doing something.

"All done," the nurse says a minute later. "I'm going to let the doctor know you're ready to go."

"Thanks," Carisi says.

Mike watches the nurse leave, then looks at Carisi. "Can I get you anything?" he asks. "A snack or something?"

"I'm all right," Carisi replies. "Honestly, you can head out if you need to. Worst case, I'll get a set of crutches and just call a cab."

"I'm staying put," Mike says, and he doesn't hear the hard finality of his tone until he sees the surprise on Carisi's face. 

"...sure," Carisi says slowly. He watches Mike for a moment, and Mike wonders what he sees. "You know, an orange juice would actually be good. Blood sugar and all that. You mind talking to someone at the nurse's station?" His tone sounds perfectly pleasant, but Mike can read the concern in his eyes.

"I'll see what I can do," Mike replies and leaves the cubicle. He takes a moment once the curtain's closed to take a deep breath and center himself. This isn't Afghanistan. Carisi isn't one of his men, not like that. He needs to keep perspective and stay calm. 

He goes to the nurse's station and asks for juice.

"We can bring some to his bed in a few minutes," the nurse at the desk says.

Mike doesn't want to go back empty-handed. It'll feel like failure. "I'm happy to take it myself. That way you don't have to disturb someone else's work."

The nurse gives him a once-over, and Mike's pretty sure his need to be useful is clear as day. The back of his neck itches, but Mike ignores it. No need to seem uncomfortable. There's nothing wrong with needing to feel a little useful.

"Okay," the nurse says after a pause. "I'll get the juice for you."

"Thank you," Mike replies. He resists the urge to tap his fingers while he waits, staring at the large whiteboard behind the desk and reading names instead. It's a quiet night for this ER, it looks like. Besides Carisi, there are only four names on the board. It soothes Mike. He hopes the whole city is quiet like this ER. He hopes the worst anyone is dealing with is a few stitches and a twisted knee.

The nurse brings him the juice, and Mike takes it back to Carisi's cubicle. The doctor's there, just bringing Carisi's X-ray up on the computer.

"You must be Sergeant Dodds," the doctor says, holding out her hand.

"I am," Mike replies, shaking her hand.

"Doctor Winters. I was just telling Detective Carisi that the X-ray is clear. Whatever damage he's done is to the soft tissue, and a few days in a brace will take care of it."

"Good," Mike says. He turns and hands the juice to Carisi. "What about the stitches?"

"I was just going to start," Doctor Winters says, pulling a rolling cart with supplies over to the bed.

Mike looks at Carisi, gauging how he might be feeling. He looks relaxed as he struggles with the tab to open his juice, "You need anything?"

Carisi glances at Mike, then down at his juice, then sighs and holds it out. "Don't tell Amanda I needed help with this. She will never let me live it down."

"What's to live down?" Mike asks without thinking. "A grown man losing to a juice box is perfectly understandable." He goes completely still, shocked at the way he's just teased Carisi. "I mean--"

"Wow," Carisi says before Mike can apologize. He's got a huge grin on his face. "So, the Sarge can wiseass, huh?" Carisi looks at Doctor Winters, who is threading a needle. "Doc, I'm gonna need to get a copy of whatever security footage you might have of this moment. I need to show the squad."

"Show me a warrant," Doctor Winters replies, smiling when Carisi laughs.

Carisi ends up needing thirteen stitches. They're scattered up and down his leg, wherever Doctor Winters thinks he'll need a little help healing.

"No baths until they're dissolved," Doctor Winters says as she tapes fresh gauze along Carisi's leg. "It'll take about a week. Showers are fine, but try to give it twenty-four hours. Don't let water hit them directly. Soap your leg from the top and let the water work it down. You'll definitely want to pat dry."

"Tattoo rules," Mike says without thinking.

Doctor Winters gives him a smile. "More or less." She turns her attention back to Carisi. "Change the gauze twice a day for the next couple of days. Seepage is common. Don't worry if it's a little yellow. If you get a fever or start seeing pus, that's when you come back so we can see what's going on."

"Got it," Carisi says. 

"As for that knee," Doctor Winters says, pointing at Carisi's knee, which is deep purple with bruises now, "You're getting a full leg brace and crutches. I want you in the brace except for sleeping for the next two days. After that, you can take the brace off for half an hour at a time depending on the pain. Don't try to macho man this out. A twisted knee can turn into a torn tendon easier than you think. I want you on 800 milligrams of ibuprofen every six hours. I'll also write you a script for Vicodin. You can piggy back them. Take your first dose of ibuprofen, then your first Vicodin two hours later."

"What about Tylenol?" Carisi asks.

"Vicodin has Tylenol in it," Mike says before Doctor Winters can say anything. "It won't work right to double up."

"Correct," Doctor Winters says with a knowing grin. "Have you been on this particular cocktail before?"

"No," Mike says. "I knew someone who was allergic to Tylenol." He sees Carisi's expression change from mild interest to concern and wonders what he's said to make him look like that. "I didn't mean to step on your toes, doc."

Doctor Winters waves him off. "You're not the first." She stands from her stool and gives Carisi a once over. "Odds are, you're going to wake up tomorrow and hurt like hell. A fall like this, you'll find out it's waiting to hurt in a lot of places that feel fine right now."

"I'll be cautious, doc," Carisi says, giving her a winning smile. "How long am I driving a desk?"

"At least two weeks. Your knee needs recovery time. Your discharge papers will have a full list of instructions, but you look like a guy who's probably had a few sports injuries in his time."

Carisi laughs. "Nah, not me. I didn't get any muscle until sophomore year of college."

Doctor Winters looks at Mike. "How about you?"

"I've recovered from a few sprains," Mike answers. It's true, but it's not sports-related. He'd slipped jumping from his vehicle to cover when they were ambushed in Afghanistan once. Sprained his ankle badly enough the medic had splinted him. He hadn't gone to the aid station, just stayed with his men and done what he could. "I'll make sure he reads the instructions twice."

"Good." Doctor Winters holds out her hand and shakes Carisi's. "Let yourself relax and rest the next few days. It'll be the best thing for you."

"Do my best, Doc." 

Doctor Winters gives Mike a nod and promises them the nurse will be back with Carisi's paperwork, brace, and crutches in a few minutes.

"What's your tattoo?" Carisi asks after a few moments of silence.

Mike cocks his head at him. "What?"

"You mentioned tattoo aftercare, which makes me think you probably have a tattoo."

Mike can't help his smile. Carisi doesn't miss a thing, apparently, even when he's got to be hurting. "I have three," he says. 

"Nice," Carisi says. "I've got a couple, too."

"Yeah?"

"Uh-huh."

The nurse walks in before the conversation can go further. She has the brace, the crutches, and a small stack of paperwork. Mike holds the crutches while the nurse gets the brace on Carisi's leg and helps him stand. 

Carisi takes the crutches under his arms and winces when he has to roll forward to get them settled.

"Hold on," the nurse says, gesturing for Carisi to sit again. "We need to adjust them. I thought you were five ten, but it looks like I underestimated."

"Six feet," Sonny replies as he eases back onto the gurney.

The nurse adjusts the crutches and hands them back. She gives Carisi a reassuring smile when he positions the crutches and can stand up straighter. "There you go," she says. "Now, we'll have someone come with a wheelchair to get you to the door, and then you take it slow, okay?"

"I will," Carisi says. He looks at Mike. "If you wanna call me a cab, I can--"

"I'll call a Lyft and make sure you make it home," Mike says, taking out his phone.

"I can make it," Carisi replies. "It's five steps from the curb to my front door, and then it's an elevator."

"That's good to know, but you also need someone to get your prescription," Mike points out as he opens the Lyft app. "And someone to make sure you're set up comfortably for the night at least."

Carisi looks like he's going to argue. Mike stares him down until Carisi sighs and rolls his eyes. "Fine."

"I know you're used to making sure everyone else is doing all right, Carisi, but we get to help you, too," Mike says. "What's your address?"

It takes Carisi a moment to answer. Mike assumes he's finally starting to feel the hit he took now that he's on his feet again. He types in Carisi's address and leaves the app open to choose a car once they're out in front of the hospital.

An orderly walks in with a wheelchair, and Mike carries Carisi's paperwork and crutches while the orderly wheels Carisi to the door. Carisi, for his small bluster a few minutes ago, is as friendly and nice to the orderly as he ever is. 

Mike listens to them chat but doesn't join in. He's thinking about the last time he left the hospital with someone. It'd been a man from his team, sent back to the States after losing his foot. He'd gotten divorced during his tour, and his family was across the country, blue collar and unable to find the extra money to fly to Maryland to help their son his first few weeks out of the hospital. Mike had been stateside again, and he took a week's leave to help Devon settle in. 

Devon had been chatty on the day he went home, joking with everyone and making jokes about being a 'foot shorter' now that he was up and moving again. Seven months later, he'd killed himself. Mike had tried to stay in touch, but Devon had stopped replying to emails and calls and texts. He's still not sure how to stop thinking he's at some sort of fault for not saving him.

"Hey, Sarge, you with me?" Carisi asks. 

Mike snaps out of his thoughts and realizes he and Carisi are outside, the orderly gone. "Yeah. Sorry," he says. He looks at his phone and taps the screen so the app can find them a car. "You want to stop for food somewhere on the way to your place?"

Carisi shakes his head. "Nah, I'm beat. I'd rather just get straight home. We can order something when we get there, if you want. I can wait for it while you grab my pills."

"Sounds good," Mike replies automatically. 

The Lyft pulls up, and Mike puts his focus on getting Carisi up and into the car, then getting the crutches in the car before getting in himself. They ride in silence. Carisi dozes for a few minutes, and Mike can't help but watch him. His hair's come loose in a few spots, and he can see individual curls and waves. Carisi's face, in the late afternoon light of a winter day, looks paler than usual. He has a few freckles under his eyes, Mike realizes. He's never noticed them before.

Carisi's building is on the right side of the street. The Lyft driver helps Mike get Carisi to his feet and up to his outer door before she leaves. Mike makes a mental note to double her tip. 

"319," Carisi says when Mike pushes the button to call the elevator. "Keys are in my coat pocket." He gestures to his right pocket. "Should have handed them to you in the car."

"It's no problem. We'll get them when we're upstairs," Mike says. 

They get to Carisi's door, and Mike holds out an arm for Carisi to hold so he can get his keys.

"The big silver one," Carisi says, "and the small gold one for the deadbolt."

Mike gets the door open. He takes a quick inventory of what he can see of the apartment. It's a long room, the living room cut off from the kitchen by an island. There are two doors to one side. The one at the back of the apartment is open. The one nearer the door is closed. There are three large bookshelves and a desk in one corner of the living room. A large couch and entertainment center take up the majority of the living room space, and there are three bar stools set up at the kitchen island.

"Where's your pharmacy?" Mike asks as he steps aside so Carisi can make his way into the apartment.

"You can fill it at the CVS down the block," Carisi replies. "They have my information."

"Okay." Mike stays two steps behind Carisi, ready to catch him if he slips, but Carisi makes it to the couch without incident and lowers himself down smoothly. "Pillows?"

"Bedroom," Carisi says, pointing to the closed door. "Extra blankets are in the bathroom closet," he points to the open door, "and there are ice packs in the freezer."

"Ibuprofen in the bathroom, too?" Mike asks.

"Yeah."

"Okay, stay put, and I'll get everything." Mike waits for Carisi's nod before he steps away. He grabs three pillows off the unmade bed, then gets a blanket from the closet. He goes back to the sofa and helps Carisi position himself so he can lie down on the couch with his leg elevated. He's surprised the couch is long enough that Carisi can lay down fully and still have a little room. 

"Yeah, that was a major reason I got it," Carisi says when Mike mentions it. "There's nothing like napping on a couch, you know?"

"I have fond memories," Mike replies, and he smiles when Carisi gives him a knowing grin.

"You're too tall and probably too broad, too," Carisi says as Mike steps away to get the rest of the supplies.

"And my apartment's too small to fit a larger couch," Mike says. "I've got a recliner, but it's not the same." The ibuprofen is in a bottle on the shelf behind the toilet. Mike grabs it, then steps into the kitchen and opens cupboards until he finds a glass for water.

"Pretty sure if I ever got one, I'd morph into my dad instantly," Carisi replies. "Lay down for one nap and wake up with a Jets jersey on and holes in my socks."

Mike chuckles at the image as he gets an ice pack from the freezer and grabs a towel hanging from a drawer pull. "Well, lucky for me my dad's not a recliner sort of guy."

"Lemme guess," Carisi says, holding out his hand for the ibuprofen and the water, "A very nice straight-back chair. No cushion."

Mike chuckles again. "Just a regular armchair with an ottoman. Sorry to disappoint."

Carisi doesn't answer. He's trying to open the bottle of ibuprofen, but he flinches when he presses down on the lid. "Ow."

"Here," Mike says, holding out his hand. He opens the bottle when Carisi hands it to him and counts out the necessary tablets. "Did you land on your hand when you fell?" he asks as he watches Carisi take his pills. 

"My arm hurts, not my hand," Carisi replies. He unbuttons his shirt and pulls it off, then pushes up the sleeve of his undershirt. "Huh," he says when he looks at his unmarked arm.

"You could have a bruise under the skin," Mike says.

Carisi pulls a face. "Ugh, probably."

Mike gives him a rueful grin. "Well, the doc did say you'd probably hurt all over by tomorrow."

"I was hoping it'd all wait until tomorrow," Carisi replies.

Mike chuckles. "Been there. Look, I'll go to the pharmacy and get the Vicodin. You decide if you're still up for ordering out or if you want to crash."

"I definitely need food," Carisi says as he wraps the ice pack in the towel. "Could you grab my phone from my jacket?" He loosens two of the velcro straps on the brace and slides the icepack over his knee.

Mike gets it and hands it over. He picks up Carisi's keys and jangles them. "I'll lock up on my way out, so you don't have to worry if you fall asleep."

Carisi gives him a considering look. "You think my place is dangerous or something?"

"No, just figured it'd give you peace of mind."

Carisi's considering look intensifies, making the furrow between his brows deepen. "Sure," he says, but Mike feels like he's missing something. "Appreciate it."

"Back soon," Mike says rather than ask questions. Carisi needs his medication, and Mike doesn't want to make him wait for it. 

There are two people in line ahead of him at the pharmacy, and Mike checks his texts while he waits. The group chat is still quiet, which tells him everyone else is still working the case. He opens a new text to the Lieutenant and sends her a brief summary of the latter half of Carisi's ER visit, including the two week estimate for Carisi to heal up. 

**Lieutenant Benson** : He's gonna get antsy. We'll have to come up with something to distract him. 

**Mike Dodds** : Let me know how I can help. 

**Lieutenant Benson** : You're doing a great job right now.

Mike pockets his phone as he gets to the counter and hands the tech the prescription.

"Vicodin?" the tech says. "Whatever Sonny did, tell him not to do it again."

Mike's taken aback at the tech's friendliness. "Is he here all the time?" he can't help but ask.

The tech grins. "Nah, just comes in for his regular meds. But he's nice, so he's easy to remember." He looks away from Mike to type information into the computer, and Mike doesn't try to fill the silence. "Oh," the tech says a few moments later, "looks like we've actually just refilled a couple prescriptions for him. I can add them to the bag when we fill this new one."

"That'd be great," Mike says. "Thanks."

"Sure. Give us twenty minutes or so."

Mike wanders the pharmacy to kill time. His phone pings as he's idly flipping through a magazine, and he's not surprised to see that Lieutenant Benson's sent an update on Carisi to the group chat. A new message from Rollins pops up as he's reading it. 

**Amanda Rollins** : Who's hanging out with him right now? Do we need to call his mom or something?

 **Lieutenant Benson** : Mike's got it covered.

 **Amanda Rollins** : Cool.

A minute later, Mike's phone buzzes with another text, but it's not from the group chat, it's from Amanda alone:

 **Amanda Rollins** : Sarge, Food Network and HGTV will both keep his attention, but he will have opinions about EVERYTHING. If you want him to shut up and sleep, toss in one of the Mission Impossibles. He has all of them, and he's seen them enough, he drops right off to sleep if he's tired.

Mike reads Rollins's message three times, not sure how to respond. Is he supposed to go back to Carisi's place and offer to watch something with him while they eat? He hasn't really planned for that. Although, come to think of it, he hasn't really planned for any of this. He'd felt panic when he'd heard Carisi was injured, and he's just been trailing along after it, letting it lead him around like it used to, when he was first back from overseas and had trouble leaving his apartment for days at a time.

He feels sick to his stomach suddenly. The magazine aisle feels unsafe. There's no good cover. Nothing to duck behind if shit goes sideways. His hands start to shake, and Mike watches them, knowing that he should be able to feel them, but he's starting to get sparks on the edge of his vision. 

_I'm having a panic attack,_ he thinks. _I'm having a panic attack. I shouldn't be having a panic attack. I know what to do if I start to have a panic attack._

He breathes in slowly through his nose and pushes the breath out of his mouth. He keeps staring at his hands, using them to keep count as he breathes in (2-3-4-5) and out (2-3-4-5). The sparks recede from his vision almost immediately, but his hands don't steady until he's taken ten full breaths.

He can't remember the last time he had a panic attack that wasn't caused by a nightmare or some unwanted loud noise out of nowhere. Mike looks at his phone again and reads Rollins's message for a fourth time. Why is he reacting so strongly to this whole situation? It's not the first time he's helped out an injured cop, and it's not even the worst injury he's ever seen another cop get. 

He reads Rollins's message a fifth time, and this time, it clicks. He cares. He cares a lot. He cares more about this squad--The Lieutenant, Rollins, Fin, and Carisi--more than he's cared about a squad since Afghanistan and the last time anyone before SVU called him Sarge.

And he cares about Carisi most of all. 

Mike looks up from his phone and stares, unseeing, at the magazine rack. He cares about Carisi most of all. The realization echoes through his head over and over, and he doesn't know what to do.

The in-store speaker crackles to life, and a voice says, "Sonny Carisi to the pharmacy, please."

Carisi's prescriptions must be ready, Mike thinks, grateful for an obvious thought. Mike works on autopilot, going back to the counter to get the prescription and a brief rundown of Vicodin from the pharmacist. He leaves the CVS and walks back to Carisi's apartment, trying to let go of the realization he's just had until he can have some time to consider it, but it goes around and around in his head instead.

He cares about Carisi most of all.

He nearly drops Carisi's keys when he takes them out of his pocket, but he catches them and manages to fit the keys to the appropriate locks and get inside.

"Hey," Carisi greets, waving his phone. "I ordered pizza since I know you like it. Got us a large sausage and mushroom."

Mike stops short, Carisi's keys dangling from his hand, the paper bag from the pharmacy gripped tight in his other hand. "I like sausage and mushroom," he says and immediately feels like an idiot.

"Yeah, you've ordered it at work before," Carisi replies. He squints at Mike. "You okay? You look a little off."

"Fine," Mike answers, but it doesn't come out right. A little too high to sound normal. He sees Carisi notice. "It's nothing," he says. He holds up the paper bag. "The tech seemed to know you. He said you had a couple other prescriptions, so he sent them all with me."

"Must be Nathan. He's always there when I go to pick stuff up." Carisi holds out his hand for the bag, and Mike gives it to him. "He's studying to be a pharmacist," Carisi continues as he opens the bag and takes out the pill bottles. There are three. Carisi reads all the labels and holds out one of the bottles. "Crack that for me, will you?" he asks.

Mike takes it. It's the Vicodin. He opens the bottle and drops a single pill into Carisi's hand. He watches Carisi swallow it along with a sip of water and only realizes when Carisi looks at him again that he's standing over Carisi, the open Vicodin bottle still slightly tipped to one side.

"You sure you're okay, Sarge?" Carisi asks. "Nathan didn't give you a free sample of the good stuff, did he?"

"Huh? No." Mike says. He shakes his head hard and nearly upends the bottle. "Shit."

"I can put the cap on," Carisi says.

Mike hands over the bottle and the cap and takes two steps back. He can't seem to get ahold of himself, and Carisi's watching him again, concern making him squint. Mike doesn't know what to say. He swallows hard and says the first thing that comes to mind. 

"I really like the squad."

And he immediately wishes he could have said anything else. He waits for Carisi to laugh at how inane he sounds, but Carisi doesn't. The concern clears from his face, and he beams at Mike. "Yeah, they're great, right?"

"Yeah," Mike says slowly. He feels very warm and looks down at himself. He's still wearing his coat and gloves. He removes them and looks around for a place to put them. There's a wall-mounted coat rack next to the door, and he tucks his gloves carefully into his coat pocket before hanging up his coat. When he turns back around, Carisi's watching him again. "What?" he asks.

Carisi holds up his hands in a placating gesture. "Nothing. Sorry. You look like you're tense about something, but it's not my business. We don't have to talk about it."

"It's not you," Mike says quickly. "It's…" He shakes his head and rolls his shoulders, forcing himself to relax. "It's been a long day," he says because it's at least partially the truth.

"You wanna watch something?" Carisi asks. "You can choose. I'm up for anything."

"Sure," Mike says. He sits down at Carisi's feet and takes the remote Carisi holds out to him. He flicks through channels, pausing on everything that isn't a commercial. He doesn't mean to stop on HGTV longer than the other channels, but there's a viciously lime green room that catches his attention.

"Won't be that color when they're done," Carisi says. "Joanna hates pigment."

Mike snorts, watching as Joanna and Chip Gaines do a talk to the camera. "Hey, gray's a pigment."

Carisi laughs. "I stand corrected." He shifts so he's turned more fully towards the television but doesn't upset his knee. "Do you watch this a lot?"

"I've caught a few marathons," Mike says. "But I haven't seen this one, I don't think."

"I don't think I have either." Carisi looks at Mike. "Hey, if you want a beer or something, help yourself to whatever's in the fridge."

"I'm good," Mike says, leaning into the couch and stretching an arm along the back. "You need anything?"

"I'm good until the pizza gets here," Carisi replies, and he turns his attention back to the screen.

Mike tries to focus on the show, but he keeps sneaking glances at Carisi. Carisi's fully immersed in the show, snorting in a knowing way when Joanna says something about shiplap. 

"You know, half the time it's not even shiplap," Carisi says. "But if it's wide, vertical boards, she calls it shiplap."

"Hey, you gotta have a brand," Mike says without thinking. Carisi's quiet huff of laughter makes him feel warm again.

The episode is already at the halfway point, so they've missed the first shots of the house. When they get to the end where they're showing the before and after, Mike yelps in indignation when they do the before and after of the bathroom. "Built-ins!" He yells without thinking.

"Why would you take those out?!" Carisi replies, one hand waving in distress at the television. "Wait. Wait. The fuck. Where's the remote?"

Mike hands it over and feels himself grinning as Carisi angrily jabs a button and makes the episode rewind. "What are you doing?"

"I swear they just complained about the lack of storage in that bathroom after having ripped out fucking _built-ins_. We are starting from the beginning because they better have been rotted or full of bees or something."

"Full of bees?" Mike asks, his grin widening.

"So fucking help me if they pulled out those built-ins and could have just planed the doors and put in some new shelves. I will fly to Waco and file an injunction against bad taste."

Mike laughs, unable to look away from the bright flush of Carisi's cheeks and the way he chews his bottom lip as he presses the button to restart the episode. "Did you get the fancy cable with rewind action just so you could be mad at this show?"

"And a few others," Carisi says lightly. He meets Mike's eyes and shrugs inelegantly. "Okay, that's not true. It's so I can rewind when I'm watching the Barefoot Contessa or Iron Chef."

"Which Iron Chef?" 

"Either," Carisi answers. "Oh, and Masterchef."

"I've never watched Masterchef," Mike says. "My dad loves it." Mike chuckles quietly, a memory coming to him. "Actually, he's said you should try out."

"What?" Carisi asks, looking pleased but flustered. "You're joking."

"No. I took him a couple of those things you brought in a couple weeks ago. The veggie…" Mike tries to find the right word. "They looked like cupcakes kind of. They had cheese and veggies in them."

"Oh, yeah, I know which ones you mean. They're not really anything. Like, there's not a name for them. It was just something I came up with because I was wanting to practice making filo and ended up with way more than I meant to."

"Yeah, Dad was telling me that dough can be really hard to make, but he said knowing what he'd heard about your skills, you had probably made it yourself. He started talking about how balanced and well-made the whole thing was and that's when he said you should go on Masterchef."

Carisi blinks a few times like he can't believe what he's hearing. "That's...your dad's not easy with compliments, so that feels like it was really sincere. Not to say your dad is a bad guy, but--"

Mike holds up a hand and is grateful that Sonny goes quiet. "I get it," he says. "I really do. He was my dad way before he was my boss, but he's only ever been your boss. It's a way different thing."

"Yeah," Carisi agrees with a nod. "But, like, none of us hate him. Well, maybe Amanda a little, but only a little."

"I feel like Amanda hates everyone a little bit," Mike replies. He feels gratified when Carisi laughs. He'd meant it as a friendly bit of teasing, and he's glad Carisi's read it that way. 

"Not Fin," Carisi says. "But everyone else, yeah."

"Even you?"

"Oh, absolutely," Carisi replies and laughs when Mike chuckles. "Not really, of course. She's just hard on herself, so she's hard on the people she cares about."

"I hadn't thought of it that way," Mike says, but now that Carisi's said it, his knowledge of Amanda slips a little more into focus. "I mean, we got off to a bad start with her sister showing up, but I don't hold a grudge against her for that. Family's complicated at the best of times."

Carisi looks at Mike like something about Mike's just sharpened for him, too. "It's just you and your dad, right?"

Mike takes a moment to weigh if he wants to have this conversation. On one hand, he thinks it might be inappropriate to share too much about his personal life with a detective who answers to him. On the other hand, this squad isn't just a squad. And, if he likes Carisi most of all--and he's even more certain he does--then he wants to be able to share things like this. "For a long time, yeah," he says. "I have a brother, but he and Mom live in Europe. They have for years."

"You don't have to give me details," Carisi says. "I can hit play, and we can yell at Joanna and Chip about that built-in they removed."

Mike glances at the paused television, then back at Carisi. "I don't want to dive in all the way right now," he says. "But...maybe tomorrow night or the night after? Whenever you feel like having company again?" 

Carisi cocks his head, and there's something shy in his eyes when he nods. Like maybe he'd been hoping Mike would offer to spend some more time together while he heals up. "Yeah, that'd work. And...if you don't feel like talking about it those times either, we can just keep hanging out."

Mike's hands shake again, but it's not panic this time. It's a sudden burst of anticipation. "Yeah. That'd. Um." He feels tongue-tied and ridiculous. "I really like you," he blurts out and can feel the blush that takes over his face in an instant. 

"Oh, good," Sonny says, and he laughs a little hysterically, his whole face lit up with relief and happiness. "Me, too. I mean. I really like you, too." He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. "God, but you knew that's what I meant."

Mike laughs, delighted and charmed by Sonny's sudden clumsiness with words. "I only just realized how much I liked you," he admits. "Not right this second, but a little earlier at the pharmacy. I...I can be kind of dumb about that stuff."

"I sort of fall right away and then have to decide if I really meant to," Sonny says. He gives Mike a small smile. It's so sweet, Mike's head swims a little. "And I've thought about my first reaction to you a lot, and it's always felt good. Like, when we talk and I learn something about you, it feels really nice." Sonny squeezes his eyes shut again. "That sounds so dumb. I'm blaming the Vicodin."

"No, don't," Mike says. "I really like learning stuff about you, too. I just didn't realize _why_ I enjoyed it so much until, like, an hour ago."

Sonny opens his eyes and looks at Mike for a long moment. "Okay," he says. "I won't blame the Vicodin."

There's a knock on the door before Mike can say anything else. He gets up to answer it, taking the pizza from the delivery guy and thanking him as he shuts the door. When he turns back around, Sonny's shifted so his leg is propped up on a couple of throw pillows on the coffee table, and the pillows from his bed are stacked at his lower back. He's shaking out the blanket, only laying half of it on himself. 

"I assume that's for me?" Mike asks with a nod towards the other half of the blanket that Sonny's smoothing out on the empty cushion next to him. 

"Yeah, if you want," Sonny says. 

Mike nods. "Yeah." He can hear the bit of breathless excitement in his voice and doesn't care. "That sounds great. Let me get you more water. You need another ice pack?"

"No," Sonny says, holding up the warm one for Mike to take. "After this episode and after we eat though, yeah."

"Okay." Mike sets the pizza box on the coffee table, then takes the ice pack from Sonny. He puts it back in the freezer, retrieves Sonny's glass to refill it, then gets a glass of water for himself. 

"You can have a beer," Sonny says when Mike sets down their glasses. "I'm not gonna because Vicodin and beer just knocks my ass out, but I'm okay if you do."

"Water's fine," Mike replies as he drapes the blanket over his lap and grabs the pizza box. He opens it and holds it out so Sonny can take the first slice. He picks his own as Sonny hits play for the show to start playing. Without thinking, Mike drapes his free arm along the back of the couch so Sonny doesn't have to worry about leaning against him awkwardly. He jumps a little when Sonny curls in close. 

"Oh, sorry. I--"

"No, it's okay," Mike says in a rush over Sonny's apology. "I was just stretching my arm so it'd be out of your way. I wasn't thinking you'd--but I'm okay with it. Really."

Sonny looks at him for a moment, then he giggles, pressing his forehead against Mike's shoulder for a few moments. 

"What's so funny?" Mike asks, confused but enjoying the warmth of Sonny's breath on his shoulder through his shirt. 

"Nothing. Everything." Sonny looks up and licks his lips. "I don't know. It's just been kind of a long day, and I think I'd like to kiss you so we just have it out of the way."

"Okay," Mike says before he can think. Luckily, the part of his brain that's still blaring at him that he likes Sonny best has apparently taken over completely because he angles his head just as Sonny presses forward, and they don't bump noses or slam their chins together. 

It's a short, firm press of a kiss, and then Sonny pulls away, eyes bright. He settles against Mike easily, and starts eating his pizza as the opening credits for _Fixer Upper_ come to an end.

Mike takes a bite of his own slice, then busses an impulsive kiss to the top of Sonny's head. Sonny makes a small, happy sound, and his free hand tangles lightly in the excess fabric of Mike's shirt. 

When they see the full shot of the bathroom before renovations, the built-ins are clear as day and look perfectly fine. 

"Oh, I am gonna get so mad," Sonny says in a threatening undertone. 

Mike smiles and shifts a bit closer to Sonny. "I like you so much," he murmurs. 

Sonny bumps his head against Mike's shoulder lightly. "Same," he says. 

Mike takes a slow, deep breath. Not from panic, but to give himself a chance to fully settle into this moment that's unfolded between them. He'll come back tomorrow night, he already knows. Maybe Sonny can instruct him to cook something in his kitchen while he keeps off his feet. Maybe they'll order take out again. Maybe Mike will text him before he heads over to pick something up. He can work with whatever they do. They like each other best. They're on the same page about it. Mike's happy to let the rest unfold however it likes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to FreckledSkittles for an excellent and hilarious beta!


End file.
